by Peter John
A LITRPG NOVEL
ABDUCTION CHRONICLES:
GENESIS
PETER JOHN
Foreword
The following story is a compilation of several genres of writing that I love to read. The first and foremost being Science Fiction, which I believe drives humanities greatest inventions and prepares us for the unknown.
The rest, bar the last, are sub-genres of the Sci-Fi theme, but each is equally specialized:
Fantasy, incorporating my own interpretation of a typical fantasy world,
LitRPG, a relatively new genre, allowed me to bring parts of gaming (Another pastime that I love) into my core story.
The last genre is that of Military writing. This is something that has attracted my curiosity from an early age, and defined a lot of my existence.
The stories of the Second World War embellished with fragrant whiskey breath by my grandfather, both horrified and fascinated me, and my own subsequent experiences as a medic in the armed forces which brought the crushing realities of mankind’s cruelty out of the fictional world and into some kind of perspective.
I have tried to incorporate a sense of realism, combined with the supernatural in a credible way for the most entertaining story I have ever come up with.
Please enjoy The Abduction Chronicles: GENESIS
Peter John
TWITTER: @PJAUTHOR1
A journey of a thousand miles, begins with a single step. (Confucius)
Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one
(Albert Einstein)
Reality leaves a lot to the imagination
(John Lennon)
Prologue
Scars are symbols of strife, written in blood, pain, and healing. They can be found anywhere on a person. Sometimes jagged, bulbous and heart wrenching upon the eye. Other times they slide right by, disguised by healing, hair, tattoos or clothing. Sometimes they are even beautiful, adding to a person’s appeal, but all are catalysts of change.
The ones I had, the most severe that is, lasted for decades in my mind, whereas some healed in a month or two. This wonderful ability to heal is a cover-up though, because scars mark us. Sometimes skin deep, sometimes so deeply that even the barest mention of their presence can set your mood for days. It is not their appearance that marks a scar’s severity; It is their lingering effect on one’s psyche.
I contemplated the half-dollar sized scar on my belly; The one that brought with it a resurgence of memories from a life of peaceful retirement to this place I stood now. I though back to where it all started, and as my thoughts drifted, I realized I had to tell someone. Something had to remain after I passed, if that was at all possible.
My scars were a pathway to those memories. Just like Cuneiform symbols of the most basic script that encompassed my entire body. Recording my many deeds and cataloging them in all their gory detail. Perhaps these marks, these reflections were the last remnants of my humanity. I don’t know why I felt this maudlin, this tragic, but for some reason I felt the need to let others know what we were fighting for and where it all began.
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AbductION CHRONICLES: GENESIS
CHAPTER 1
A rude awakening
“WHEN THE BRIGHT LIGHTS CAME FOR ME, I WAS UNPREPARED”
I was snatched from sleep as an impossible hand, was it a hand? Whatever it was, it clamped like a vice around my face and muffled my shouts. Dazed from sleep, lost in a dream, only to wake into a nightmare. I struggled and fought, panicking wildly. “How had they gotten through my defenses?” I thought to myself. “Who are these men?”
The flashing lights caused me to squint. A shadow materialized into some kind of freak attached to the arm. I saw more shadows now, more grasping limbs. My bed sheets had been ripped off and they were pinning me down. Something had each one of my limbs and struggle as I might, they would not release me. There were no weak points, no let-up of their power over me. They had me dead to rights and the more I struggled, the tighter they clamped. My pulse quickened as realization dawned. No, these were not men. They were something else entirely. My struggles and attempts to shout intensified. “God no! Please! This isn’t happening! Are they… no it cannot be!” My thoughts cascaded into madness and with another supreme effort I tried to free myself again, only to pause as a kind of humming filled the air, a vibration that caused me to remember my training.
“Stop! Evaluate, and then act. Whatever you do, don’t panic.” Fine words to live by, fine words I had taught many a soldier. It seemed like they would be fine words to die by as well. My consciousness began to fade and my last thoughts were of spidery bipedal bodies with large ovoid heads, tear shaped compound eyes and thin purple lips. There was no humanity in those faces.
My name is Colonel Petros Arkansas (ret.) and I was abducted in the Year 2025. It was a clean abduction as far as abductions go. No alarms, no strange sounds, only the lights and humming, which I later learned was their form of communication. They had me before I even knew they were there. Perhaps in my youth I would have had a chance, but hobbled by retirement, a lack of mental preparedness and a few glasses of scotch the night before left me completely at their mercy.
I awoke in a stark washed-out room. Nothing in my field of view besides the walls and ceiling. Light seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves. Chill vapors surrounded my naked form. I was on a type of gurney, with restraints, but besides those sensations I could not move at all. I could tell my muscles to bunch, to struggle, but the message wasn’t getting through.
A head loomed into my view and it was a good thing I was immobile because I really wanted to back the fuck away from it. It was very definitely alien. The tear-shaped compound eyes reflected my fear strained face in all its facets and I gulped audibly. Then I heard the voice. It was a mechanical voice. Something a computer would intone. “Petros Arkansas” it stated and I flinched as if struck. How did it know my name? How did it know English? How did it talk without moving its lips?
The creature moved slightly as if getting comfortable. A dentist ready to drill a cavity riddled tooth. I panicked and felt urine trickle around my scrotum. I hated dentists. It was completely humiliating. I was one of the finest soldiers in the world, trained to withstand worse torments than someone saying my name. But that was just it. This wasn’t someone. This was an it. No amount of training could prepare anyone for this. I began to hyperventilate. My heart throbbing faster and faster as adrenaline flooded my senses.
Fear I could deal with, I had spent decades making fear work for me, with me, and through me. I could channel it into targeted aggression and deadly consequences. However, this was so far off the radar that I had no response, no coping mechanism. I gurgled a response. The sound loud in the quiet humming room. It was the best I could do as my tongue refused to obey me. “Don’t use your voice, use your mind.” The disembodied voice echoed within my head. I strained and said “FUuurgggh llluu!” as loudly as I could. My defiance barriers were up. I needed a win.
The electric shock that ratcheted through my body was completely unexpected. It ripped through me and I felt every single nerve come alive at once. My body arched, my breath wheezed and my restraints strained. The shock put Tasers to shame and I could smell my own excrement. Panting with relief as it subsided I heard the voice again.
“Try again Petros, but use your mind.”
Defiance is in the heart of every soldier. It allows us to stand when others fall. It gives us purpose to exist. I screamed as loudly as I could through my treacherous unresponsive lips “Fuuurgggh eewww!”
The shock this t
ime, wasn’t so bad. Perhaps I was becoming conditioned. Perhaps it just felt less intense because my nerves were still recovering from the previous shock. Whatever the reason, I mercifully blacked out.
A while later I awoke, cracking my eyes to see if I was alone, but it seemed only a short time had passed and the creature was still there. I tried to play possum, but then that voice reverberated inside my head.
“Do we really need to go down the route of unpleasantness again?” it said still looming large in my vision. Its weird purple lips never moved. This creature was really using telepathy to talk to me.
“I am known as Grant by your kind and yes I am using a form of nerve impulse telepathy to communicate with you. We find shock therapy brings humans to a receptive frame of mind quickly. I trust you won’t need another example?” The voice seemed almost eager. Challenging. I quickly shook my head. It seemed to relax.
“Good, now to forestall unnecessary questions let me say this. I am an Alien, yes. Humans call us Absinthe and we have selected you.” It paused to let that sink in, then continued,
“In order that we can communicate effectively we have devised this form of communication to expedite matters. Where we come from and how we got here are not important, although to you they may seem the most important questions to ask. To alleviate that query let me say we come from a distant part of the Universe and a place you humans are unlikely to discover anytime soon. How we got here is equally unimportant. The fact is, we are here, and have been observing humanity for a long time. Many hundreds of years in fact. We remain undetected and travel about without the slightest worry that we will be discovered. Your technology has a long way to go.”
“So now let me reiterate, it matters not. The reason we have you here is for testing. You will either pass or fail. It is my job to ensure you have the best chance to pass. You have been selected based on a great deal of profiling. Nod if you are following me so far?” I nodded vigorously.
“Good, now I would ask you to respond to me with your mind. Think your thoughts at me.”
I complied and blurted “What are you doing to me?”
It was all I could get out before white noise and static hissed through my thoughts. I flinched and then tried again.
“I am hungry, do you have any food?” It was a deflection and standard operating procedure for any captive trained as I was. Gain as much nutrition as possible as soon as possible. You never know when you will get the chance to escape and besides I was quite hungry, I must have been here for quite some time already. The response was unexpected.
Not only did my stomach grumble to support the request, but Grant turned his head to the side and moved from my field of view. Then I heard a metallic noise, something clicked and a robotic arm moved into view. It hovered as if to get its bearings then moved again. It stopped roughly over my sternum. I began to get a bad feeling. The bad feeling was compounded as a large needle, easily the dimensions of a half dollar coin, began to lower, then adjust, and then lower some more. It was aiming for my stomach region and I couldn’t do a thing about it.
I couldn’t scream or flinch or do anything much, but internally I was screaming and when it pierced my flesh I tensed. It was excruciating. What the hell! All I wanted was some food, not stomach surgery!
As the pain subsided, I felt a gentle tugging on the needle that had inserted itself, and a feeling of satiation washed over me and through me. It felt wonderful. I closed my eyes in bliss and noticed a light shining through my lids. It went from amber to green. I wanted to say more, to discuss more with my captor, but the supply of sustenance drove me into the dark halls of blissful sleep. It was a short-lived reprieve.
I opened my eyes a short while later to find Grants’ head hovering above me again. The insect eyes were impossible to gauge, so I just assumed I was the focus of his attention.
“You are content?” he asked inside my mind. It really was weird knowing he was speaking to me via telepathy. I kept looking at his alien grey mottled face. The reflective sheen on his skin giving me the impression he was slimy to the touch. The two slits where his nose should be flared from time to time, so I assumed they had the same function as a nose. I began to gather phlegm in my mouth, wondering if I could spit onto him.
Almost choking, I realized I didn’t have the muscle control and relaxed the effort. At least mentally I was spitting at him. That would have to do for now. He seemed to notice that I relaxed slightly and his voice began anew in my head.
“Good Petros. Acceptance is part of the process. The sooner you accept your predicament, the sooner we can get to your training.”
I complied of course, I had no other choice. Internally I planted a seed deep down that a chance would come to free myself and then I would get even. I knew this was how all slavery and subjugation starts. At first, one accepts the scraps, then becomes thankful for them, and then accepts more until eventually you become so used to the new environment that everything seems normal.
I swore to myself right then that I would never let that happen. That no matter how satisfied I was with my new overlord's treatment, I would never ever stop looking for a way to be free. These thoughts and more were swirling in my head as I closed my eyes and sought refuge in sleep.
CHAPTER 2
Beetle Mania
A hot breeze ruffled my hair as the chill of the room receded and a new reality woke my senses. A dry, clean scent filled my nostrils and as I opened my eyes I was immediately blinded by the stark brightness of daylight. No longer in my whitewashed room, I stumbled as I tried to grasp where I was, how I got here and what was happening to me. As far as I could see, huge sand dunes coated the landscape, receding into the distance. The stark sky above was clear blue without a cloud in the sky. It gave me the impression I could see forever. I didn’t understand the how yet, but either I had been rejected by the aliens or this was part of the test.
As I rotated, marveling at the expanse and sense of freedom I felt, I began to realize how fragile I was too. This was a harsh landscape, and all I was wearing was a white cotton loincloth. My bare feet began to feel uncomfortable on the hot sand, but I found that if I buried them just below the surface, it was much cooler. Towards one side and about a kilometer away appeared to be a rocky expanse with several windswept boulders littered around. I decided if there was any shade to be had, that was the most likely place to find it. I also noticed to my astonishment that I had a staff in my hand with a hardened nub at the end. It fitted comfortably in my hand. The sand was getting hot, even with my feet buried, so making for the rocks I started to walk.
Each footstep careful and controlled. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been on a beach, but it was a good few years ago and before that my times in deserts had always been in full military gear. As I found my stride, I began to relax. It was a nice day out and why I was here was not clear yet. While I couldn’t do anything about that, I knew that survival was key. You can’t do much when you dehydrated in a place like this, which is the same as being dead, only longer. Cresting a dune, I noticed a rasping sound. It seemed to vibrate through my feet and I looked around puzzled. No, it wasn’t from the breeze, which caused the sand to shift and rasp. It was a more pronounced sound. I moved down the other side of the dune and heard the sound again. This time more clearly.
If I was a betting man, I would have to say that it sounded like something was moving in response to my movements. Was I causing it? No, my feet hardly made a dent in the dunes. But there it was again. Unmistakable. I crested the next dune and tried to see if I could notice anything. There! Roughly a hundred meters away, movement. The sand was distorting. It appeared to be something burrowing just below the sand, leaving a clear wake that snaked back into the distance. It intersected with my windswept footprints and now seemed to be following them. I couldn’t really make it out clearly except that the d
isplaced sand caused the sound that was very definitely getting louder. Shit! I knew this was too good to be true. I admonished myself as I headed for the rocks quickly. What the hell was that thing? It looked like a worm or creature was stalking me.
I had kept myself relatively fit even in my retirement, but it wasn’t everyday that you trained running on sand and it quickly became apparent that I didn’t have the stamina for a full out sprint. Whatever it was that had my scent was gaining and I was definitely not going to get to the rocks before it caught up to me. Slowing a little, I bided my time. I didn’t want to be drained of energy when whatever it was decided to attack. I had to be ready. The creature was now only twenty meters back and gaining with each stride I took, so I turned around and kept backing away.
Visions of huge worms from Frank Herbert’s ‘Dune’ kept my adrenaline spiked and senses screaming with readiness. I even hoisted my staff in the chop wood position. When it was roughly five meters from me, it burst like a zit from the sand and all my imaginings could not have prepared me for the giant sized beetle flying towards me. It had huge scything mandibles that spread wide as it bore down on me. It was easily one meter long, black head, thorax and abdomen, and two twitching antennae waving generally in my direction. The splayed mouth parts an additional half meter wide, poised to snap closed at the first opportunity.
The scuttling legs blurred as they propelled the bug creature forwards, desert sand spewing all around. It closed on me with incredible speed and took me completely by surprise. Had I not braced myself it would have severed my body cleanly in two. I barely had time to swing the staff down. But swing the staff I did, incorporating many years of martial arts training into that single focused blow. The hardened nub at the end of the staff smashed down and somehow managed to hit the spot between the creatures head and thorax.
